In My Veins
by SilverOverEverything
Summary: 'She heard it in his voice, in the way his words folded against her like they were stitched of velvet. It was well concealed and hardly discernible, but she found it nonetheless. A promise. A silent covenant that whispered of happiness and of love; the guarantee of a future together.' Fremione.
1. Firelight

***I do not own any of the characters or settings of Harry Potter, that would all belong to the wondrous J.K. Rowling. However, I do own the original content of this story.***

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**In My Veins**

**One: Firelight**

_In which our story begins on a frosty night._

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His words echoed, bouncing around the walls of her mind and they were creating quite a ruckus. Every enunciation and dip of his voice sounded loudly in her ears and torched her thoughts like wildfire. She could relive seeing the way his lips formed each and every locution, the sight all too fresh in her mind's eye. His angry and hurt eyes haunted her as she fluttered her eyelids closed. A lone, stray tear slid free of her thick lashes and caught at her chin.

"He's a Durmstrang!" he had bellowed, his face burning red with fury. "You're fraternising with the enemy!" The tears, however, hadn't started to sting at her eyes until he had said those last, fateful, awful words. "He's using you! He's just trying to get close to Harry!"

His nerve astounded her. How dare he suggest Viktor had been using her. That he did not harbour any real feelings for her. He had also really miffed her by insinuating that she was actually naïve enough to fall for it. Surely Ronald knew her better than that. She's Hermione Granger, the so-called smartest witch of her time and she's just going to twiddle her thumbs as some . . . _boy_ uses her? Those two ideas were far from being synonymous. In fact, she'd be much more likely to play in the next Quidditch World Cup and win than she would ever let herself be manipulated. Especially if she was being used against her own best friend.

Still though, Hermione could feel the deep and lingering pain of hurt dwelling just beneath the surface of her annoyance and indignation. She hadn't expected anything like this to amount from the night. She had hoped the night would move along swimmingly and that she would have a smashing time. Which she had, for a while at least. Everything had honestly been rather perfect – Viktor was charming and sweet and it tickled her that he had a knack for mucking up her name – until Ron had decided to act like a child.

Hermione had felt so beautiful and so like a girl for the first time in such a long time and it had been wonderful. She had finally let her hair down and had fun. She had even danced wildly with the twins to one pulsing, loud song and had somehow convinced Harry to save her one dreadfully awkward slow dance, but she had smiled. Smiled so much that she would not have been at all surprised to feel her face crack.

She should have known, however, that good things really do rarely last.

Ron had single-handedly unravelled all the good feelings the night had aroused within her in less than ten minutes. He'd screamed at her and made her feel as ugly as a hippogriff's arse and he had absolutely humiliated her. There had been times, loads of times really, that Ron had embarrassed her beyond belief and made her blush and wish she had Harry's invisibility cloak on hand but never in their nearly four years of friendship had she ever felt so mortified. And she hated him for it. Hated that she had been reduced to a puddle of tears and silk. Hated that she had let his seething words affect her so badly. She really hated how degraded and dirty she felt for shouting back just as loudly and uncouthly because Ron had deserved every jab for ruining her night and so she had no reason to feel guilty.

But Hermione was also just sad. The sadness had set in well after the argument, even after her tears had dried. They fought all the time, her and Ron. It was so out of hand that the good weeks and the bad were beginning to level off, to catch up to one another.

A long and drawn out sigh fell from Hermione's lips as she slumped forward and buried her face in her hands. She was a right mess now. Her delicate updo was looking more along the lines of something a bird would nest in, her make-up was smeared around her eyes from crying, and her dress robes were unbelievably crumpled. It was strange to think that she was being jealously and lustfully stared at just hours earlier when she now looked so bloody frightful. If not for the lack of logical founding, she would have been almost certain that she could scare one of the House ghosts to death with just one look.

She was alone, everyone else was either in the dorms sleeping or taking full advantage of the extended curfew and still out dancing their youth away. Hermione didn't mind though, in fact, she was quite glad no one was there to witness her messy breakdown – she had enough being said about her without adding fuel to the flames. In the solitude she could let loose and give herself over to the torrent of emotions riding her; she could let herself be a girl crying over a stupid, stupid boy; she could be a best friend raging because of another's cruel words; she could simply be Hermione Granger hopelessly devastated by Ronald I'm-a-lousy-sod Weasley.

Hermione sniffled as another stray tear broke free and she quickly reached up to swipe under her eye. When she looked down at her thumb she saw the tinge of black from either the eye-liner or mascara and let out a huff of air. It only further reiterated the idea that she looked awful, which didn't exactly make her feel all too better. She felt foolish for not seeing this coming, for not seeing Ron's reaction and anger coming when she knew – or maybe she only hoped – that he felt more-than-friendly feelings for her. Still, she could not quite make herself regret accepting Viktor's offer. Not when she had such fun and laughed so often.

Again Ron's crushed expression cropped up in Hermione's mind, the look of pure and undiluted misery gleaming in his oceanic eyes. It was the worst look imaginable like heartache and frenzy brought into harsh light. Smashing her face in her hands again, a choked noise that sounded too much like a sob caught in her throat. The heels of her palms dug into her eyes as she let the makings of guilt crash over and claim her, adding to the mass tangle of chaos already vibrating throughout her body.

A shiver rolled down her spine despite the roaring fire just feet from her and Hermione again wiped at her tears and hastily grabbed the quilt from off the back of the couch, wrapping it tightly around herself. Absently she thought that she needed to go to bed, needed to sleep off the bitterness of the night, but she couldn't move. Her watery brown eyes trailed up to stare at the flames of the magical fire. Hermione watched the blaze leap and fall and lick at the ashes laying just beneath the belly of the wood. She lost herself in the light.

Time ceased to exist as Hermione's eyes lingered on the fireplace and she had no idea how long had passed until her trance was broken, but she was suddenly aware that someone was coming. She could hear their footsteps in the hall just outside the portrait hole and then she could hear their voice arguing with the Fat Lady about the hour – trying to get inside. Finally Hermione saw the portrait swing open just from the corner of her eye and saw a flash of red hair and for a moment her heart jolted painfully before she reminded herself that this intruder was not Ron, that Ron was sleeping upstairs. This was a different Weasley.

It was too much to hope that whatever red haired menace this was wouldn't see her, she was in perfect view of the portrait hole and she was the only Gryffindor awake that was not out roaming the corridors. It was inevitable and she abruptly hated forgoing sleep.

"Granger?"

Hermione shifted back into the plush softness of the couch and pulled her legs up under the blanket, dropping her head to her knees to keep her spoiled face out of sight. She peered again out of the corner of her eyes and watched as he neared and ultimately sat next to her. It was one half of the twins, she could see, but without a better look Hermione couldn't exactly tell which but she definitely knew that of all the students in her House, she did not want to deal with Fred or George and risk being mocked for weeping over their little brother.

"G'way."

"Pardon?" he said, angling his body towards her, "I didn't quite catch that. You see, you have a little blanket and knees on your face." His voice irritated her. It was so unaffected and she swore she could hear a small smile in his words.

Hermione lifted her head up just a touch but still refused to look at him. Quietly, though discernible, she repeated, "Go away." She took the slight incline of the angle she held her head and scanned over the twin sitting next to her. He had discarded his outer robe which left him in his white oxford – of which he had the sleeves pushed up around his elbows – and black waistcoat. For a moment Hermione was struck by how attractive and handsome he looked, the firelight illuminating the angles of his face and dancing across his lips which were indeed somewhat crooked, but she quickly shook off such a thought. Slowly, her eyes trailed down the length of his frame again, the faint scar along the bridge of his nose giving her an answer as to who he was: Fred.

"Well now," he started to say and Hermione watched dubiously as he stretched out his lanky frame and made himself more comfortable. He folded his arms behind his head and rested his left leg atop his right, staring at her with the usual wicked gleam in his eyes. "Why would I want to leave such pleasant company?"

A strangled noise that sounded something like a snort of contempt crossed with another sob came from Hermione as she once more buried her face in her knees. A snappy retort hung in her mouth, catching at the tip of her tongue, but she held it back. She couldn't very well stop him from sitting there no more than she could stop him from being a wizard. And if she were being honest with herself, she didn't quite know why she didn't want him there. Moments ago she had wanted nothing more than to be alone to wallow in the pity that had arisen from the ashes of the night's events, but now she was wondering what the point of being alone was. It did not help matters that she was also far too exhausted to put up much of a fight.

So she let Fred stay.

She didn't look up or say anything for a while though and neither did he. She could feel his curious gaze on her, feel it making the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention, but Hermione refused to acknowledge him fully. Oddly, the silence that had blanketed itself around them was not tense or awkward or even uncomfortable. The crackling of the fire before them and the soft, faint echoes of other students laughing in the halls of the castle added to the weird and easy atmosphere and Hermione felt herself relax just a bit more. She even dropped her arms to hide back under the quilt and stared in the blaze like she had been doing mere minutes ago.

Hermione had expected Fred to say something as soon as he saw the black tear stains marring her features, waited for him to crack a joke or make some offhand comment about how uncomely she looked, but it never came. Instead she heard him ask in a quiet, very un-Weasley kind of voice, "Is this Ron's doing?"

Her back stiffened. Craning her neck to look at him, she found herself staring in bewilderment at the concerned and sorry expression he wore. It made him look older and careworn and not at all like the youthful prankster she knew him to be. He had also changed his position reiteratively and had his hands clasped together laying across his legs, leaned forward in a way that she had seen Harry take up whenever something serious or dangerous was afoot. After a few minutes Hermione's eyes again found the fire and she nodded slowly, not trusting her voice while another tear rolled. A knot developed in her chest and tied itself tightly around her ribs, heart, and lungs making it almost impossible to breathe or feel anything but its pressure. She hated that his words, knowing as they were, made Ron's heated shouting ring loudly in her ears again. She hated that Fred cemented the fact that his little brother had turned her to a whimpering disarray of the person she really was.

"H – how did you you know?" she finally voiced after another allotment of time passed.

Fred sighed and she saw him run a hand through his shaggy red hair. A grim look had chased away his expression of worry. "I heard him screaming at you at the Ball," he answered in a way that suggested he was afraid of how she would react.

Hermione simply sniffed and nodded. "I suppose the entire school did."

"Dunno 'bout the whole school, but the people in the Great Hall certainly did."

"Ron always did have a knack for drawing attention."

Hermione's body sagged forward tiredly and she attempted to run her hands through her hair like Fred had done but gave an exasperated cry when her hand got stuck. Carelessly, she tugged at the shimmering clips in her hair and winced as she felt a couple strands of her hair pull away as well. The strange silence veiled the pair of them yet again. Hermione both felt and heard as Crookshanks jumped onto the arm of the maroon couch with a purring mewl of affection, his squashy face nuzzling her chin before he plopped onto her lap. At once she freed a hand and began to pat him.

"So, what happened?" Fred questioned.

Hermione gave a non-committal shrug of her shoulders, the blanket slipping down to reveal her capped sleeves and bare arms, before answering. "He's angry with me for going with Viktor."

"Is that all?" She could the frown in his voice.

"I suppose so. He said Viktor was using me to get close to Harry, y'know to find out what he knows about the egg, and accused me of being a horrible friend for _fraternising with the enemy_. There also might have been a few choice slurs about my 'lack of clothing' as well but I stopped listening to him after a bit."

Fred gave a low whistle. "He said all that?" he asked and at her nod of assent he tacked on a disgruntled 'git'. "Don't pay him any mind, Granger, he probably was just jealous he didn't get to be Krum's date – you've heard the way he talks about him."

Despite herself, Hermione snorted in amusement. "I wouldn't doubt if we never hear Ron talk about Viktor with awe again. He's made it quite clear tonight that he loathes that, as he eloquently put it, 'ruddy pumpkin head.'" She hiccuped with a short laugh and found herself accidentally digging her nails into Crookshank's pelt, earning a hiss of discontent, as her body began to tremble with what was either rage or woe – she could not quite tell.

Fred, feeling her begin to shake and perhaps fearfully sensing new tears on the horizon, reached out and lightly grabbed her hand. He didn't even blink when Hermione's cat batted at his arm once before jumping to the floor and trotting away. "Look at me, Hermione," he demanded in a whisper that she easily complied with, "don't hold yourself responsible for Ron's behaviour. A prat's gonna be a prat no matter what, especially when he's jealous. Now, I don't know if you know but he fancies you, my brother does, and he screamed at you because he didn't like seeing you with Krum – because he wanted to be Krum. I can't blame him, not when I would likely do the same, but I can't quite pardon it either." He fixedly looked at her as though he were trying to force her to believe him. It was not needed though, Hermione had heard the ring of truth in his declaration clear as a bell.

Hermione felt her heart rate pick up as she processed what Fred had said and noted, with some confusion, that she did not get as fluttery as she thought she would at hearing Ron's feelings. She had once thought that if she could ever hear the confirmation of his affections – even if not from his own mouth – that she would be so filled with happiness she could soar. Yet, all she felt was that same unsettling roil of disappointment that had been churning in her stomach ever since he had stormed up the stairs and locked himself in the boys' dorm.

"That doesn't really make me feel better," she grumbled when she realised Fred had been waiting for a response. "I mean, I thought that his liking me might be the reason behind his madness but when I had told him that if he was so worried about my affairs then he should find the courage and ask me for himself the next time anything like this happens he just told me it wasn't the point and left." Hermione sighed and pulled her hand free of his to cross her arms in frustration. "It was obviously the point though – why else would he act so foul? - but that doesn't make it my fault. If he had just asked me I would have gone with him, I'd ha –"

"Would you though?" Fred asked, interrupting the beginning of her rant.

"Would I what?"

"Would you have gone with Ron to the Ball? Is that really what the problem is, that he didn't ask?"

"Of course I would have, he's one of my best friends, but as it is he did not and I gave my word to Viktor and –"

"Granger, I know you aren't that thick. You don't go to the Yule Ball or any other ball for that matter with someone and expect them to still just be your friend. I'm guessing Krum made a move at some point tonight because he doesn't want to just be a good mate – he wants to date you."

Hermione fixed him with a distrustful look. "Don't be silly, Fred, no one wants to date me. I'm a frizzy haired know-it-all and that's how everyone sees me," she said coolly.

The red haired man beside her gave a rueful shake of his head and laughed humourlessly, making Hermione's brow stitch together in a frown. "There are very few people who see you like that, Granger. I know some blokes who would line up and count all the stars in the sky or some other such impossible task if it meant that they could have a go at you. No, I'm serious," he said at her pointed glare, "you're a right fair bird. But the question remains; would you really have gone to the dance with my git of a baby brother if it meant crossing that oh so tantalising line that divides friend from lover?"

Hermione's frown deepened and she idly nibbled at her thumbnail, chipping the lilac nail varnish she'd applied only hours before. Did she want Ron to have asked her? Did she want to blur that universal line Fred just spoke of and date her best friend? If he had asked her just two months ago she was absolutely sure she'd have screamed yes at the top of her lungs. Right then, however, she was unsure. Ronald's temper drove her mad most days and the fact that he seemed to not care about his academic record at all upset her, but she had always been able to see past that and see his potential. But was potential enough?

"No," she announced slowly, quietly. Hermione was not too sure if she was answering herself or talking to Fred, but the answer was clear and definite in her mind. "No, I don't think I would have said yes to him. Not if that's what it meant."

"Then there you go," Fred said plainly and leaned back into the cushions. "And honestly, I don't blame you. I wouldn't have wanted to go with him either, he's dead ugly."

Hermione smiled broadly and giggled. It was so like Fred to say something halfway serious and follow it up with some kind of joke. It was nice though and she had a sense that Fred was exactly what she had needed to offset the horrible night she had. It also gave her a somewhat twisted satisfaction that the joke had been at Ron's expense. A yawn rippled through Hermione and she stretched out a bit, popping her aching and stiff back. With her new found realisation, a flood of relief had swept through her which was then quickly followed by pure exhaustion. She just wanted to sleep for days and wake up and be done with this mess.

Upon seeing her tiredness set in, Fred stood and grabbed his discarded robe. "We both need to sleep. See you in the morning." He grabbed his robe and slung it over his shoulder as he leisurely strolled to the stairs. When he stepped onto the first two, he swivelled around and with a charming smile and shining eyes said, "By the way, you looked beautiful tonight, Hermione. I reckon you've heard it a lot at this point but mum drilled it into me that girls should hear it when a bloke thinks she's pretty." He threw a wink at her and turned around again. "Sleep tight, Granger," he called.

Hermione watched him ascend the stairs, didn't look away until some time after he had disappeared from sight, before she dared to move up her own flight of stairs. Sluggishly his words filtered through her mind as she readied herself for bed and she carefully turned each one over and over and over again until she was sure there were no hidden meanings or cryptic jokes that she had missed. Once satisfied that the compliment Fred bade her was true and heartfelt, Hermione let herself sink into the comfort of the four-poster and drifted off to sleep with a smile curving her lips.

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_Okey dokey! This is my first ever Fremione fic and well, I just have to say that I am really very excited for where I plan on taking it! It's going to be a long one, so I do hope you are all well prepared to read. I'm starting here because I think that for a Fred and Hermione relationship to develop there needs to be something major happen that brings them closer; Fred giving her his version of advice happens to be quite a feat because it's such a rare occurrence for him. Also, being that Hermione was quite devastated after the Ball, she's really quite vulnerable and impressions can be left on the weary so here we are!_

_Anyway, I hope none of you are disappointed! I'd be very excited if you felt the kindness to drop me a review and tell me what you think – I do so highly value my reader's opinions. (:_

_Thanks, C._


	2. From The Mouths of Babes

***I do not own any of the characters or settings of Harry Potter, that would all belong to the wondrous J.K. Rowling. However, I do own the original content of this story.***

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**In My Veins**

**Two: From the Mouths of Babes**

_In which Hermione learns the hard way how cruel some people can be._

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The days following the Yule Ball were some of the worst Hermione had ever experienced at Hogwarts. Rumours were flying left and right about her sudden disappearance at the Ball as well as Viktor's. She honestly had no idea where he went after she left and she didn't even really care, but almost every student in the castle was spinning the circumstances in a light that made her stomach squirm in revolt. Hermione didn't know who started the original chain of gossip – if she did she'd not hesitate to hex them into oblivion – but people everywhere were whispering about her not only having been escorted by such a renowned Quidditch player but also about her shagging him.

Girls stared at her wherever she went, looks ranging from awe to envy and rage to disgust plastered all over their sneering faces before they turned to each other and muttered about her torrid affair. Boys roved their eyes over her body lasciviously as though they could see through her robes and she overheard some of them wondering how 'Krum had gotten such a smarmy know-it-all to drop her knickers.' It was in those moments she cursed her sensitive hearing.

It had gotten so ridiculous and out of hand that Hermione hated even being in the Gryffindor Common Room, a place she normally found great comfort, because every time she entered Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil sidled up to her and assaulted her with questions she really felt they'd no right to ask. "He's so handsome! Is he as toned as he looks? I bet his muscles are the sexiest thing to feel, all tight and powerful, when he's ravaging you!" Parvati had gushed just that morning, a glazed look in her round eyes while Lavender rather savagely said, "Why on earth would he choose you? What makes you so special?" Hermione had merely brushed past them and stomped through the portrait hole in annoyance.

She didn't know exactly how she felt, other than heatedly angry, about the attention she was now receiving but it certainly was not _special_. Hermione had vainly hoped that it would all die down as time passed but it had already been over a week since the dance and she was still being bombarded by catcalls and whistles. Some were even stopping her in the halls and demanding to know what Viktor looked like naked and what it was like to snog him. It was irritating to say the least and she was often so enraged that Harry and Ron had to drag her off before she started throwing curses.

Hermione could deal with all the mutterings that followed her like shadows, she had accustomed herself to such antics when she had first become friends with the famed Boy-Who-Lived, and she could even pretend that all the shrewd stares didn't make her skin crawl, but having persons she did not know prying into her private life was easily one of the most maddening and unpleasant of experiences she had faced in her life. Which, considering that she had battled a werewolf, a troll, and a giant snake as well as having been petrified, really said a lot.

Aside from driving her absolutely barmy with fury, the school's new found obsession with her love life was severely wreaking havoc on Hermione's friendships with the boys. She had swallowed her pride the day after the Yule Ball and apologised to Ron, admittedly she wasn't all too sure what exactly she was supposed to be sorry for, and Ron seemed to forgive her. As a manner of principle, she found his lack of atonement for his wrongs against her a bit rude but she bit her tongue as she did not want to push her luck and things returned to some semblance of normality. Of course Hermione's relationship with Ronald was still rocky and tense and felt just a little forced but she had expected it. She had, in hopes of fixing the rift between them, tried to talk to Ron about what happened between them that night, but he suddenly developed hearing loss whenever she cornered him and would stalk off before she could really get a word in. Hermione had only just resigned herself to Ronald's silence and was settling to wait for him to come to her when they caught wind of what was being said.

Immediately Ron flew into a state of lunacy and ranted about wanting to tear apart Viktor for well over an hour and Hermione had actually found his concern endearing until he had sank his teeth into her and once more screamed at her for being stupid enough to fall for Krum's charm. She had tried to tell her well-intentioned friend that she hadn't fallen for anyone's charm no more than she had crawled into their bed, but Ron was too blinded in his anger to even fake that he heard her.

Harry, on the other hand, yelled at Ron for being such a berk and reassured Hermione that he knew better than to buy stock in the hype, that he knew she was not _that_ type of girl. His words had promptly earned him a fierce and bone-crushing hug which people had taken liberties with as well. Within half an hour the student body were claiming she was also sleeping with her raven haired best friend. Luckily, Ron realised that since everyone was lying about the two of them, then it was plausible that they were also stretching the truth about her relationship with Viktor. He again did not offer an apology but he was at least standing by her, as was Harry.

Though they presented themselves as a united front, their bonds were being strained with the pressure and the three of them were arguing more than ever. Hermione's only source of relief was Ginny. The younger witch was more than happy telling their gawking classmates off or hexing them whenever they dove too deep for information. Ginny also didn't seem to mind putting her brother or her crush in place if they got too accusing or rude and each occurrence only made Hermione's gratitude for the girl surge higher.

On occasion, Hermione saw Fred shooting her sympathetic glances and she often wondered if he wanted to say something to her but just didn't know how or couldn't manage to get away from his mates long enough. She had not seen much of the older Weasley since Christmas and she had quite honestly been itching to talk to him again. Hermione wanted to thank Fred for being so helpful on that gods-awful night and for not ridiculing her afterward like he normally would have. Every time she managed to summon forth her fabled Gryffindor courage, however, he was gone or George was whispering something seemingly serious to him.

As the number of days left in winter break dwindled, Hermione found herself growing more anxious than she ever had been. She wasn't all that keen to go about spending her days sitting alongside the very people slandering her good name and harassing her about an event that never happened for four classes a day, two hours a piece. If simply ignoring and rushing off from whatever goon happened across her was enough to make her want to bash her head in, she did not want to know what being immersed in the gossip fully would feel like or do to her. If she was any kind of lucky, she'd be able to refrain from doing anything that would put her at risk for expulsion. Hermione also had to hope that with the chaos of new, harder lesson plans she would fall to the wayside and people stopped caring about what she was or was not doing.

She longed for the days when the biggest scandal she ever committed was simply not raising her hand to answer a question in class and she hoped to get that back. Hermione _would _get that back .. even if it killed her or she had to break a thousand school rules. She'd do anything to remove herself from the spotlight and go back to being the frizzy haired bookworm that no one quite liked; it really would be so much easier than being the slag everyone talked about.

The last evening of the winter holidays found Hermione in the Great Hall eating dinner with Ginny sitting beside her, Harry sitting opposite her, and Ron sitting next to Harry. None of them were quite talking as they were each absorbed in their thoughts. Hermione's mind was still running through the various rumours she had heard and the numerous things she had apparently done and she didn't know if she should be somewhat impressed with the credit people were giving her – she was apparently quite the woman in bed – or downright disgusted. She settled for a happy medium between the two. She wasn't positive when, but Hermione had somehow begun to view the whole ordeal as kind of hilarious. If any of the students spreading the gossip knew anything about her, they'd know that she was in no way, as Ron had once put, a scarlet woman. It was the exact opposite of everything Hermione Granger stood for.

"Hey, Hermione." Hermione instantly snapped out of her musings and focused on her surroundings. She turned her head to where she thought she had heard her name being said and saw Neville sitting on the other side of Ron, a minuscule smile turning up the corners of his lips.

"Oh hello, Neville," she returned politely. She had always really liked Neville Longbottom, he was quite the good boy through and through. He was well mannered and almost as studious as she was, though his attentions were more devoted to Herbology, and he had a good, pure heart. Sure the others found him a bit annoying, but Hermione had decided almost immediately after meeting him that he was good company. However, as much as she liked the round-faced lad, he rarely engaged her in conversation when she was around Harry or Ron and definitely chose to hold back whenever she was with both of them. This posed the question of why was he talking to her now? "Was there something you needed?"

A deep rouge spread along the nape of his neck and coloured his cheeks as he blinked rapidly. "I just .. er.. well," he paused and cleared his throat as he looked around to see if anyone was watching them – which they were – and his blush deepened. "I wanted to tell you that I don't think you actually .. um .. slept with that Viktor Krum fellow. Of course, if you did, well, that's okay too! What I'm trying to say, is that I think you're a good person, Hermione, no matter what anyone else says." By the time he finished rambling Hermione was almost sure his face would forever resemble the colour of a tomato, he was so flushed.

Hermione beamed radiantly at her classmate and felt the slight burning of tears behind her eyes as she regarded his kind face. He really was the sweetest boy she'd ever met. "Thank you, Neville. That really means a lot to me." She smiled widely, making him blush evermore as impossible as it was and stammer out a nearly unintelligible "You're welcome," and "It's no problem," before gathering his things and fleeing the Great Hall.

After Neville was out of her sight Hermione turned her attention back to the hall of people around her. Many eyes were glued to her, curious and judging, and some were trained at the spot Neville had disappeared from by the doors, confused and amazed. Hermione rolled her eyes at the unabashed staring and resumed her meal. She hadn't been too hungry when she entered the hall, but she was now suddenly famished and she quickly cleared the food off her plate and waited patiently for the afters to appear. As she waited, the feeling that she was still being watched slowly ebbed and when she looked around her, she breathed a sigh of relief to find that the only people looking at her were Ron and Harry – Ginny was merrily eating beside her – and she could feel the somehow familiar gaze of Fred's piercing eyes from down the table as well.

Her brown eyes met his blue and she flashed him a secret smile before she faced the other two. She couldn't fathom their expressions; Harry's furrowed look of amazement and Ron's slack-jawed expression of bewilderment. "What?" she demanded after a few minutes, starting to feel obscenely self-conscious.

Her tone seemed to snap them both out of whatever trances had been holding them captive as Ron literally shook himself back into reality and Harry let out a long sigh. "I'm just surprised. Neville never really struck me as a ladies man," said Harry while he blinked a few times as though he were trying to dispel an image out of his mind.

Hermione laughed. "He's quite charming, yes, but I wouldn't go so far as to declare him a ladies man. He's a sweetheart, always has been." She flicked her eyes over to the youngest Weasley male who's face was still fixed in a troubled expression. "Now what's wrong with you?" Hermione could not contain the bite in her voice, she was really beginning to get aggravated with Ron's emotional outbursts.

Ron raised his eyes to hers and she did not miss the swirl of guilt and confusion in their depths. "You really didn't shag him, did you?" he said slowly, dragging out each word. His tone was coloured in the same puzzled tint that was in his eyes and on his face and it dawned on Hermione that he'd truly believed she _had_ been intimate with Viktor and a strong tide of disgust fuelled anger washed across her.

"You .. you believed those lies? You actually thought I would do something like that, that I would degrade myself in such a way?" she seethed accusingly. Standing from the long table, Hermione glared emphatically at her supposed best mate. "I can't believe we're actually friends," she stated in a shaky voice. She was very near the edge of tears and as much as everyone liked to talk about her, she was glad they had yet to realise how much all of it was hurting her, and so she didn't want to break down in the Great Hall. Without another glance or word at Ron, Hermione fled through the great oak doors and into the waiting corridor.

Oh, she couldn't believe him! One of her closest friends and he couldn't even tell when people were lying about her! It hurt her more than it angered her but being angry seemed far more productive and satisfying than wallowing. Did he have such little faith in her? Was he really _that_ insecure about himself and his chances with her, as slim as they were, that he needed to think the worst of her to make himself feel better? If so, why in the name of Merlin was she friends with a git like him? It may be selfish and vain, but she thought she deserved better. She had been raised to be a good person and good people did not deserve such a shite mate as that of Ronald Bilius Weasley.

Hermione was far too worked up and emotional to even consider going back to the Common Room or her dorm – Lavender and Parvati had left dinner early and were undoubtedly in the Gryffindor Tower somewhere – but she certainly didn't want to roam about the halls in tears and wake up in the morning to hear she was not only a right whore but also a complete disaster. But she really had nowhere else to go. She could duck inside one of the hidden passages behind the various tapestries but they were about as ideal as the hallway in terms of needing a spot to weep. She could sneak off to the Astronomy Tower, no one ever really went up there, but the height of it completely terrified her and she was honestly a bit afraid that she would be far too tempted to do something rash and either jump off the edge or find Ron and pitch him off. No, she would just have to settle for keeping her tears at bay until she came across a secure place.

Letting her feet guide her, Hermione began wandering the long corridors of Hogwarts in search of a place she could lose herself. She did not get very far, however, before she heard her name being yelled from the opposing end of whatever hall she was now walking. Not wanting to talk or see anyone, she sped up only to be stopped by a tentative hand grabbing the juncture of her arm. Despite her reserves, she whirled around and came face to face with Ginny. No words were said for a moment's breath before Hermione finally let her tears overflow her senses and allowed Ginny to soothe her as only another woman could.

"How could he think I'm so horrible?" Hermione asked as another wave of tears slipped free. "Gods be good, I can't believe this is the second time in a month that a Weasley has held me while I cried over that arse!" Ginny had looked at her in a funny way once she confessed that bit, but she was too far gone to notice or, if she did, care. When Hermione seemed to finally have cried to her heart's content, she pulled away from Ginny and stood up from the cold stone floor – they had somehow found their way down amidst Hermione's shower of salt water – and pulled the younger witch with her. She had never been more thankful to have Ginny in her life than at the moment. "It's late, we should probably already be back inside the Tower," she commented in a tight voice.

Ginny nodded her assent and they both fell into a quiet walk towards the north tower of Hogwarts. Ginny, it seemed, wanted to say something. Every couple of minutes the brainy witch would see her open her mouth or turn to her or would hear her inhale deeply, but nothing was ever expressed. Hermione was beginning to lose patience and was on the verge of demanding to know what she wanted to tell her but before she could get the words out, Ginny grabbed her arm again and slammed them both against the side of a wall. Her impact rattled a few portraits and their owners barked at Hermione about manners and just as she made to apologise profusely, a hand covered her mouth and she heard Ginny shush the paintings. Finally having enough of her odd, and rather painful antics, Hermione rounded. "What the buggering hell are you doing?" she hissed in a whisper at the ginger maniac.

"Shh," Ginny said again and, jutting her chin, gestured to something on the other side of the corner they were currently hiding behind. "Listen."

Fixing Ginny with a glare, Hermione hesitantly leaned forward and reached out with her hearing, trying her hardest to pick up what the other girl had obviously already heard. " .. tell me, is Granger any good in bed?" A voice that seemed distantly familiar asked and Hermione immediately began sifting through her memories to try to pinpoint its owner. Listening harder, she discerned another voice, one she _did_ know and could easily place. "My Hermy-Own-Ninny is unbelieffable but she is very stiff. Her mofements were too .. too generic." That voice was unmistakably the lilted tone of Viktor Krum. Hermione momentarily saw red and all she wanted was to march around that corner and blast the Bulgarian off the face of the earth. "So, you really did shag her, then?" the mystery voice asked. "Vell, of course! She could not resist me!"

Hermione stopped listening, choosing instead to focus on controlling the boiling in her blood and steadying her erratic heartbeat. If she didn't she would do something so wrong and so dangerous and she would have to be expelled or sentenced to Azkaban. Never in her life had Hermione ever been angry and disgusted and hurt and repulsed all in one go. She was sure she was going to explode, was going to once again go to pieces in the middle of a hall with Viktor and some other worthless prat just feet away.

Somewhere in her foggy brain she registered Ginny's movement beside her and heard the low echo of her shouting something far off. Ginny once again grabbing her arm jolted her out of her haze but Hermione had to focus intently to hear what she was saying. "We have to go! C'mon, Hermione!" And then she was being pulled away, lead somewhere she didn't know, but looking back over her shoulder she smiled sinisterly at the two boys that were currently fighting off massive flying bogeys.

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_I would like to respond to _Jumping Ships' _review because he/she was not signed in and I couldn't respond like I did the others. I have to agree on you with your points, the well-written stories for Fremione are a bit more difficult to find but most of the ones I read are real winners, so I can't complain too much. It's really nice of you to think of mine as one of those nicely done writings – I'm sure you'll change your opinion once you read more of this one though! Lol. As for keeping Sir Frederick in character, well I wanted to make sure that what I love most about Fred in the books (and also what I adore about James Phelps) in the story because his characteristics are the very reason I fell for him. Your excitement concerning the length of _In My Veins _is just a bit contagious, I must say, because I wasn't honestly going to do much more writing for a few days but after reading your comment I was completely swayed. Your words made me so giddy I felt like dancing, which thankfully I did not because I look riddikulus when I dance but you get the idea. So, thanks much __for your review but I'm afraid I'm now positively hooked on your comments that I will be needing and expecting one for every chapter! No, I'm kidding, but it would be much appreciated. Anyway, thank you, thank you, thank you!_

_And thank you to everyone who reviewed or favourited or followed this story, you're all the reason I'm writing!_

_Love you, C._


	3. The Morning Saviour

***I do not own any of the characters or settings of Harry Potter, that would all belong to the wondrous J.K. Rowling. However, I do own the original content of this story.***

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**In My Veins**

**Three: The Morning Saviour**

_In which Hermione's morning routine goes awry._

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Remnants of rage still simmered deep in Hermione's veins the morning of the new school term. She just could not believe what she had overheard Viktor saying about her and what they had supposedly done, couldn't believe she had thought him charming as a true gentleman just days prior. His crimes against her left a bitter sting that tasted of betrayal, resentment, and pain in her mouth and made her blood bubble in undiluted fury but most of all what he had said and done just made her feel stupid. Which was a feeling she had never felt before in her fifteen years of living and didn't particularly care to feel ever again.

All night long Viktor's lilted lies drummed in her ears and pounded against the confines of her mind, keeping her from succumbing to the wiles of sleep. When she was not thinking murderous things about the Bulgarian Quidditch star, Hermione's mind turned over the other boy's words and voice. She hadn't yet been able to place the familiarity that had trickled up her spine when she initially heard him speak, but somewhere in the forays of her memories she just knew that she heard him before. However she had not gotten a clean look at him when Ginny hastily pulled her from the corridor and without further information, his identity was lost to her. It was all rather irritating and as such Hermione had woken from what little sleep she got in a foul mood.

The sun had only just made itself known in the eastern sky when Hermione's eyes snapped open, bloodshot and red-rimmed. A soft glow illuminated the girls' dormitory, devilish streams breeching the small gap between the hangings of Hermione's bed and shining violently into her murky brown orbs. The young witch laid there among the tangle of her sheets and blankets for a few moments trying to quell the knot of apprehension and nausea that was lingering in her stomach. Normally she would have been delighted to resume classes and refill her days with soaking up as much magical knowledge as possible but the beginning of a new term meant that she would also be forced into close quarters with those that were slandering her name and reputation. Which really didn't register as something to be joyful for in Hermione's opinion.

With a groan, Hermione rolled out of the warmth of her bed and quickly righted the covers with a flick of her wand before she walked around to the end of her bed to rummage through her trunk for some school robes and a clean set of unders. Clothes in hand, Hermione quietly tiptoed, as to not disturb her sleeping classmates, through the dorm and into the shared loo. There was no rush in Hermione's actions, she was the only one ever awake so early and she was quite thankful to have the peace.

As she showered, her thoughts turned away from the two arses Ginny had hexed for her the night before and instead shifted focus on a certain ginger git she had truly believed was her best friend.

When she and Ginny had returned to Gryffindor Tower the previous night, panting and red-faced from running the length of several corridors and many, many flights of stairs, Hermione sped past Ronald and up the stairs when he tried to approach her and smiled fiendishly when she heard Ginny ream him for his stupidity. It shouldn't have come as too much of a shock that Ron didn't believe her of her innocence. He was constantly belittling her, was always criticising and judging and openly voicing his harsh opinions - ever more so when it came to S.P.E.W. Still, he'd been one of her only closest companions since she was twelve and she had naively hoped that he would stand true with her throughout whatever challenges life threw her way like he did with Harry. It hurt more than being petrified or transformed into a cat or cursed seven ways to sundry to think that their friendship might actually be at an end.

Ginny had tried to persuade Hermione into at least going and talking to Harry and letting him speak on Ron's behalf but she had not succeeded. Harry had more than enough problems to deal with concerning the tournament, his burning scar, and the nightmares he refused to acknowledge and Hermione was most certainly not going to add her own. She and Ron were mature enough to figure it all out on their own if they so wished. Besides, Harry's infamous title was not the-boy-who-lived-to-be-a-constant-referee-amongst-his-mates.

A rather exasperated sounding sigh released itself from somewhere in Hermione's chest as she turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower, exposing what bits of her body were not protected by her towel to the severe cold of the air, sending eruptions of gooseflesh to sprinkle over her milky skin. Her limbs felt a bit disconnected and spasmodic in their sleep deprived state as Hermione pulled on her robes and cast a drying charm on her frizzy mane before attempting to tame the nest of curls, a feat that seemed impossibly harder ever since she had felt the smoothness and pliability SleekEazy's Hair Potion had provided, braiding it down the back of her neck in a single plait. She was still very aware of the giant rubber ball of anxiety bouncing about in her belly as well as the subdued anger washing through her bloodstream. Add in her pulsing headache and Hermione's mood was dropping lower and lower by the minute.

All Hermione really wanted was to possibly crawl back into bed for a month with Crookshanks and wait out the nasty gossip, but she'd always been a rather proud creature and as such she would not give into cowardice and hide away. She was a Gryffindor and Gryffindors were famed for their courage. It would be a crying shame if she couldn't muster up enough bravery to face such a low form of evil as rumours.

But it was still tempting.

It was with a disheartened exhale that the brainy witch tugged her woollen tights on beneath her skirt and slipped her feet into her black patent Mary Janes. Knotting her scarlet and gold striped tie around her neck and folding her Gryffindor crest emblazoned robe over her arm, she finally left the loo. Hermione's eyes danced over the beds filled with her three fellow sleeping Fourth Year girls and to one of the many arched windows. The light was still fresh and new and held the tell-tale pale yellow tint of early morning. It could have been beautiful if it weren't for the simple truth that it was too early to even contemplate going down for breakfast. The Great Hall wouldn't be filled with food until half seven and it had to be just after six. If that.

The next ten minutes were spent by Hermione rooting through her rucksack, ensuring all her needed texts were closed and within in pristine shape and perfect order and reinforcing its straps with a series of strengthening charms. Once the task had been tackled, she had quietly cast a Tempus Charm and was immediately rewarded with bright numbers flashing behind her eyelids in a vibrant violet colour. 05:43.

Hermione supposed there might have been something else she could have found to do to pass the next hour or so, but she just didn't think she had the energy. Her eyes were burning with the strain it was taking to keep her heavy eyelids open and the pain in her head was seriously pounding something fierce in her temples. She also wasn't all that keen on waiting around for the giggling gossips of Gryffindor to awaken and pounce on an opportunity to question her while she was alone and not busy. There was only one thing left she could do.

Wait a little longer and then make a mad dash for the Great Hall.

There were holes in her plan, Hermione knew, but she was not left with much of a choice. There was only so much a girl could take before finally losing control and blowing her top. Especially when malicious half-truths were in play. And if anything was to be said about Hermione, it would be that she was teetering along that edge between keeping calm and hexing everyone's mouth off. She'd much rather risk an interaction in the Great Hall where she would be surrounded by people than in Gryffindor Tower where she was essentially alone until her friends woke up, which would assuredly be sometime after breakfast had been served and just minutes before the first class of the day.

Hermione nodded her head once to herself, setting her shoulders in determination and set off. Crookshanks greeted her at the top of the staircase. Rubbing himself against her shins, he effectively trapped bits of his orange fur in her tights and pawed at her feet, sinking his claws into the shiny material of her shoes. Hermione sighed in defeat and picked up her familiar being careful to not lay him against her robe – cat hair was incredibly difficult to get off, magic or not – and scratched the half-Kneazle behind his ears.

"I know, I know, I'm a horrible witch for locking you out for the night," she cooed at the cat, rolling her eyes as his own yellow ones glared at her. "I'm sorry, Crook. In repentance I shall give you a nice treat with your dinner tonight." She was instantly awarded with a purr as well as the feeling of Crookshanks' squashy face nuzzling her chin affectionately to which she merely giggled and scratched him harder behind his left ear. Setting her cat back down on the ground, Hermione quickly opened the door to the girls' dormitory and bade her temperamental feline a goodbye and goodday upon instructing him to behave himself. Her coffee gaze followed his movements and only when she saw him hop atop her bed and settle himself amongst the pillows did she close the door once more and turn to continue her trek down the stairs.

Making her way into the familiar setting of the Common Room, Hermione felt a gush of relief roll through her as she saw no one was awake, or, at the very least no one was in the room. Hermione shifted her bag, pulling it further up her shoulder and kept her feet light as she possibly could and traipsed across the vast lounge. She nearly tripped over one of the thick ornate rugs but managed to catch herself on the edge of a couch. As she righted herself her eyes fell on a folded up piece of parchment laying on the furthest corner of the table in front of the settee she was leaning against.

Curiosity rose up within her and before she could fully comprehend what she was doing let alone stop herself, Hermione was walking around the settee and picking up the unassuming piece of paper. Her nimble fingers hastily unfolded its creases and she feasted her eyes on the scribbled writing within. As she read a frown tugged at her brow and a scowl shaped her lips.

_Messrs Weasley,_

_In regards to your last letter, I must say that you have crossed into dangerous territory. I do not respond kindly to being blackmailed, especially by two smarmy sods such as yourselves. If you so dearly need your money then mayhaps you shan't have spent such an amount on a bet. Gambling, as the two of you well know, is highly illegal and punishable by a sentence in Azkaban. Underage gambling, on the other hand, is treated quite more severely and if you don't stop in your efforts of extorting coins from my person I can guarantee the pair of you will be begging for something as sweet as a prison sentence._

_It is with the utmost sincerity that I say I am not at all sorry for my actions – I do hope you've learned something here boys._

_Yours,_

_Ludovic Bagman,_

_Department of Magical Games and Sports_

_Ministry of Magic_

Hermione was livid. She was uncertain as to whether she was mad at the twins for being thick and irresponsible enough to have lost all their savings – she had already worked through her aggravation at them for even gambling at the bloody Cup in the first place – or at Bagman for cheating them out of it. She was leaning more towards the latter. The way he was behaving was not how an adult should. He was a Ministry official for Merlin's sake! He should be setting an example and having those younger and less learned than himself looking up to and aspiring to be him. Though Hermione had to admit that she had thought him to be rather seedy and underhanded and a bit of a disappointment upon their first meeting, there was still a point and message to be had.

It was true enough that Fred and George were tricksters and more than enjoyed hoodwinking unsuspecting victims – Ron being one of the more popular targets – but they were never blatantly cruel. It was the sole reason she didn't come down as hard on them as she really should have. Hermione understood that the twins beta-tested their funny charms and antics on themselves and each other long before they ever thought about trying them on the open public. She wasn't completely supportive of it, but she could respect their ambition and inventiveness. For someone to be reprehensibly mean and wrong to the two jokers was beyond anything she could fathom.

Shaking with the intensity of her rage, Hermione looked over the letter again. Her eyes narrowed into slits and the glower on her face deepened as she reread the spiteful implications of Bagman's words. He was obviously a horrible person, threatening to incarcerate and possibly even torture teens, and she had no qualms about grouping Ludovic Bagman in the same shameful category as that dreadful Rita Skeeter. She would be having words with the disgusting man, she was just sure of it.

"Are you ever not reading?" A low voice said somewhere to her left. Whirling around she dropped the angry letter and clutched at her heart through her shirt in shock and fright. Hermione found herself looking into the devilishly handsome face of Frederick Weasley. Something in the back of her mind questioned when exactly she had started thinking of the slightly older wizard as handsome but she stamped out that voice and focused on slowing her erratic heartbeat and trying to breathe evenly.

The longer she stared, the more heated her blush got as it littered the apples of her cheeks in rouge stains. It wasn't often that she was careless enough to drop all her defences and lose herself so completely in what she was feeling and reading but she had. Hermione had turned herself over to the outrage and disbelief as well as the dangerous promises she had been reading. She was also quite sure her blushing was partially a result from being caught reading something that had never been intended for her knowledge.

"Didn't mean to startle you, Granger," Fred stated simply but his innocence was betrayed by the mischievous smile attempting to tweak his lips and the gleam of mirth shining in his sapphire eyes. "Though you do make it exceedingly easy and so very amusing."

Hermione's expression of shock fell immediately into a fearsome scowl. Dropping her hand from her chest she made to cross her arms. "I am not easily frightened, Fred Weasley," she responded in a clipped tone, brown eyes blazing.

Fred laughed lightly, the sound of it deep and genuine. "Oh, come off it – your sinister glaring isn't at all intimidating. You're actually about as terrifying as a rabid Puffskein." Hermione's glare only intensified which proved to further Fred's chortling.

"And you aren't near as hilarious as you think," she all but growled at the offending redhead.

Ridiculously, Fred gasped in horror and his hands flew up to his chest as though he were attempting to grasp his heart. Hermione vaguely wondered if that was how she looked only a minute ago. "You wound me!" he yelled, his voice mockingly pained. Hermione merely rolled her eyes at the blatant display of immaturity. She sometimes really wondered how she had come to ever be friends with someone like Fred; he was her complete opposite in every which way. If she thought too long and hard on it, however, she realised she quite enjoyed their differences because in the roughest of times when light seemed dimmed and lost, Fred and George always had a knack for finding a way to make it all seem so much more bearable. Hermione's Second Year had been testament enough to that when the twins had turned the villainous whispers about Harry being the Heir of Slytherin into an amusing display of stupidity.

"In all seriousness though," he was saying and his voice jolted Hermione out of her musings as she focused back on the present, back on him. "What the blazes were you reading that was so interesting that you didn't even hear me coming down the stairs? I'm not exactly the quietest bloke in the morning, y'know. I stumbled a bit, made quite the clatter, might have tripped over a shoe." Another bout of embarrassment began to flow through Hermione along with a decent amount of surprise. Had she really been so invested in her tumultuous thoughts regarding the letter that she had missed that? She knew all too well exactly how loud one or both Weasley twins could be, it would take something incredibly distracting not to notice or hear them at such times. Then again, she had reason for being distracted.

Snapping out of her mind once more, Hermione forced her attention to the situation that was unfolding around her. What excuse could she possibly make to convince Fred that she hadn't seen what he and his brother obviously didn't want others to see and also pose enough of a reason to have been completely absorbed and unnoticing? Hermione was a rubbish liar. It was a feat she usually took pride in, but right at that moment she greatly wished she had been blessed with the ability to bend the truth. "Um." Brilliant. She was not off to a good start and she felt another wave of heat bloom on her face. She was beginning to ponder the possibility of blushing so much one's face stayed permanently red.

Frowning, she dove into the deeper recesses of her mind, racking her imagination for any feasible alibi. Hermione's mouth opened to say something she didn't know but her voice stopped midway, lodging in her throat as she took notice of Fred walking towards her and starting to lean down to pick up the parchment at her feet. Without further contemplation, the bushy haired witch bent at the waist and grabbed for the slip of paper and shoved it deep into her pocket. "Why is it any of your business what I am or am not reading?" she said waspishly, averting her gaze in fear of being found out.

A rather perfect orange eyebrow quirked upward on Fred's face while he regarded the obviously frazzled girl before him. His stare was intense and Hermione honestly felt like he was peering into her, looking for any fault or hint of withheld truth. Finally after a few long and agonising moments his natural smile returned and a seemingly mischievous twinkle rooted itself in his eyes. "What's got you so jumpy, Hermione? Reading something naughty perhaps?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and this time she felt heat flare not in her cheeks, but her chest instead. It was a bizarre sensation and she wasn't all too sure if she disliked it or not.

Hermione couldn't locate her voice. It seemed to have run away. Instead she squeaked in response because as far as the word naughty went, she had technically been reading something under that classification. A letter, rather blackmail, that was not meant to have been read except by those to whom it was addressed certainly felt naughty, but she was not about to tell him that. Clearing her throat, she forced courage into her cowardly vocal chords and managed to say, "Again, I've no idea why it's any of your concern what I'm reading."

"It isn't and I really wouldn't have cared but now that I've seen your reaction, I'm afraid my curiosity has been piqued."

"Well, you know what they say: curiosity killed the cat."

"Ah, but Granger, I am not a cat. I think I could handle a bit of intrigue."

Hermione groaned and hung her head in defeat. The tone of Fred's voice was far too tantalising and honestly, she was much too exhausted to banter and definitely didn't have the energy she needed to keep up with his sharp wit. It was quite strange; she had never given up so readily, least of all to a Weasley, and she did not like it one bit.

She silently slipped her bag off her shoulder and bent to retrieve her robe from where it had fallen to the floor in her haste to snatch up the letter and shrugged it on. A sound of contentment echoed in her throat and chest as the warmth enveloped her. She hadn't even realised how cold the Common Room was until that instant. "So," she said conversationally, "what are you doing awake so early? I wasn't entirely convinced a Weasley knew how to be out of bed before noon." She looked up from her robe's trio of buttons and was delighted to see that Fred was smiling widely at her joke.

He laughed. "And I was positive Grangers didn't know how to jest," he quipped playfully, shrugging and her eyes were inexplicably drawn to the motion. She watched in fascination as his broad shoulders moved and took note of a flash of pale freckled flesh as his shirt shifted on his collarbone. "I haven't really been to sleep yet."

Frowning at his confession, Hermione forced her eyes away from his shoulders – she couldn't quite figure why she was still staring anyway – and turned her gaze to his face. There were faint though dark circles underlining his shining eyes which were streaked with red the same as hers and his unkempt hair was messier than she'd ever seen. Fred looked as tired as she felt and she wondered if she looked just as haggard. She was certain she actually looked worse; Fred was a bit prettier than she was. "Oh," she stated. "Why?" She couldn't help but question him, her own curiosity making itself known.

"Personal issues," he answered in tight voice that didn't fit his personality whatsoever. "What about you? Why is the infamous Hermione Granger awake at such an infernal hour?"

"I've not been to sleep either."

"And why not?"

Hermione nibbled on her bottom lip. Could she tell him the truth? Could she reveal her woes to Fred Weasley? She had before and he had helped her then, but that was a different situation entirely. She had been a right mess and needed a strong shoulder to lean on. A shoulder that wouldn't judge her or even ask too many questions but would listen intently. Would he extend such chivalry again?

There was only one way to find out.

"I'm avoiding .. well, everyone," she admitted finally. Fred didn't laugh like she thought he might and she took that as a sign of good faith and continued. "I'm waiting out the next," she glanced at the clock mounted above the fireplace, "hour and nine minutes and then escaping to the Great Hall for breakfast. People don't usually arrive right at 07:30 and I'm less likely to be bothered there." She was borderline rambling and Hermione was at a loss as to how to stop.

Thankfully, Fred offered her a reprieve from further embarrassment by cutting across whatever she was going to say next. "That's silly, Granger," he commented while ducking down and grabbing his own robe and bag from where he had set them on the carpeted floor, "you can't think that will actually work. I have a better idea." He walked forward and past her towards the portrait hole. She watched in mild confusion as he pushed the portrait open and began to crawl through. His head popped back in sight unexpectedly, his shock of red hair unnaturally bright against the darkness of the exit. "Are you coming or did you really want to stay here and be pestered? Everyone's going to be waking up and making their way down here any minute." As if to prove his point, there was a loud shuffling noise and Hermione listened in horror as the sound transformed into the sounds of feet pattering against the stairs.

She was crawling through the portrait hole after Fred within an instant, moving faster than a Golden Snitch on the fly from a Seeker.

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_Oh my Godric guys! I am so extremely sorry that I haven't updated in a while! I was in the middle of moving and my right prat of a brother didn't offer me any help so I was stuck packing my stuff, the whole flat, and his stuff as well and then came the mess of relocating it all to our new, less leaky flat. Thankfully it's all taken care of! Sadly, this chapter isn't much in the way of excitement and isn't remotely good._

_Cue dramatic sigh._

_Now, I am incredibly aware that this is slow going at the moment (and I'm also aware that I'm writing scenes that take place during one event or conversation at a time) but as I lead you all further into the strange musings of my imagination, time will pick up._

_Review._

_NOW._

_Or I will kill Fred and break all our hearts._

_Thanks, C._


	4. Kitchen Confessions

**I do not own any of the characters or settings of Harry Potter, that would all belong to the wondrous J.K. Rowling. However, I do own the original content of this story.***

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**In My Veins**

**Four: Kitchen Confessions**

_In which the kitchens are place where secrets and promises are made._

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The Kitchens of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were exactly that, kitchen_s_. They were three large kitchenettes connected to form one extremely giant sized room. Most of the space seemed to be taken by wall-to-wall length counters and floor-to-ceiling pantries and what little space was left was being occupied by dozens of House Elves. There was an incredibly large and rather rusted oven on the far wall and a fireplace along the next that housed a roaring red flamed fire that warmed the room. Dangling from the walls were various cooking utensils as well as pots and pans of all sizes. There was a plethora of food littering the tables along with pitchers among pitchers full of juices, coffee, and milk, kettles of tea whistling in the far corner. All in all, it was exactly what a person would imagine the kitchen of a castle sized institution to look.

Hermione wasn't sure whether she wanted to kill or thank Fred. On one hand, he had taken her away from the possible dangers of the Common Room and to a place that was filled with enough food and drink to fill the stomachs and quell the thirst of a thousand men. On the other hand, though, she was surrounded by the very beings she was trying so desperately to free from slavery. It also made her feel a bit squirmy being in the Kitchens as it was a forbidden place, but mainly she just hated seeing the little greyish-green creatures working themselves to near death to prepare the morning feast.

Pulling a face, Hermione watched the House Elves run around the vast room and dutifully cook bacon and sausages and eggs, siphon juice from oranges and pumpkins, slice tomatoes and chop potatoes, and pile it all onto gold encrusted plates. The more she saw, the more Hermione wanted to yell out and tell them all that they didn't need to do these things, inform them of their rights as magical creatures. Fred, however, seemed to sense what she was thinking because before she could say a word to the little things he was pulling her to the side and whispering lowly in her ear.

"Now don't get all noble and cause-y, Granger, they are happy to be cooking such tasty treats for us all. Also, if you say one word about S.P.E.W. to them, I will not hesitate to take your righteous arse back to the dorms and leave you to fend for yourself against the intrusive harpies of the beloved House of Gryffindor."

Honestly she'd been so shocked that Fred had actually called her campaign by its rightful name and not simply _spew_ that she hadn't really heard much of his playful threat. It was quite amazing knowing that Fred Weasley listened to some of the things she had to say.

Hermione quickly gathered her wits and stiffly nodded her head once at Fred's remark but made sure to fix him a hard stare, fighting the smirk that tried to turn up her lips when he guffawed loudly. Her eyes followed him as he moved into the room, navigating his way straight to where a platter of breakfast items were laying in wait to be eaten. Fred wasted no time in taking up three pieces of bacon and promptly shoving them into his mouth before moving onto two pancakes. Endless appetites, it seemed, were as genetic in the Weasley family as their trademark fiery hair.

After a few minutes of stuffing his face, Fred turned towards her. "I know I'm ruggedly handsome and exceptionally pleasing to stare at, Granger, but are you really just going to stand there all morning and ogle me or are you going to eat some breakfast?" he asked around a mouthful of half-eaten toast and eggs and Hermione had to bite down on her tongue to keep from chastising his distasteful manners. She was at least thankful that he didn't send chunks of his food flying like Ronald sometimes did when he spoke at mealtimes. Hermione'd already spent too many times in front of a mirror fishing the disgusting debris out of her hair and wasn't looking to do it ever again if she could avoid it.

With a dramatic roll of her eyes, Hermione dropped her bag to the floor and stepped in the bustling kitchens and tentatively walked up to the counter he was leaning against. She roved her eyes over the various foods and drinks and inhaled deeply, loving the glorious combination of the salty smell of bangers and eggs mixed with the sweetness of jam and fruit. Hermione's stomach rumbled abruptly and she tried not to blush at the gurgling noise as she helped herself to a kipper and poured some much needed coffee into a cup.

She very nearly moaned when she took the first sip of delicious caffeine.

Minutes of silence ticked by as Fred and Hermione dined and the latter was greatly surprised by how comfortable it once again felt. There was no tension or need to fill the void. No awkwardness. Their silence seemed much less forced than the many she had shared with the younger brother of the man beside her and she was quite enjoying it. There was a bit of oddity to it all though as well – Fred Weasley was almost never silent unless he was planning a prank or was too upset to make jokes. As awful as it was, Hermione hoped it was not the former of the two options. The absolute last thing she needed was to be the victim of one of the infamous pranks the Weasley twins were known for pulling. At the same time, however, she really hated the idea of Fred being upset.

Their companionable silence stretched on and on while the unlikely pair ate their fill. The Elves had been kind enough to conjure up two stools for them to sit on for which Hermione thanked them greatly and revelled in the warm, toothy smiles she received in return. A pleasant warmth was radiating through Hermione's body by the time she had filled a third mug of coffee and with it washed away the last bits of sleepiness that had painstakingly lingered in her veins. This, thankfully, allowed for free-flowing, cognitive thinking to return and she was most pleased.

Her thoughts were not the frenzied, in-need-of-information ones she had become accustomed to since the Goblet of Fire shot Harry's name from its flames nor the red tinged, spiteful thoughts that'd been frequenting her mind since Boxing Day, since she'd first heard the murmuring of her lurid affair with Viktor. No, they were much more dangerous in an unknown way. She was thinking about Frederick Weasley and the strange sense of edginess he instilled inside of her. Hermione couldn't put her finger on what it was exactly that made it happen, but her blood rushed in her ears whenever he got too close. It was a completely foreign feeling and relatively terrifying as well and she didn't yet know what she thought about it.

Finally, the minutes of quiet passed and Fred's low English brogue rang out in her ears like bells. "Can I ask you something, Hermione? Something personal?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side as she regarded the wizard. Her brow furrowed as she tried to decipher what he could possibly want to question her about that would make him ask permission first. Fred and most others of the Weasley clan that she'd had the pleasure of meeting tended to put more stock in asking forgiveness for a rash decision or invasive inquiry than asking permission for anything. She ran her eyes over his weary face, recognising the deep burning need for knowledge in his eyes that she so often saw reflected in her own as well as taking note of the nervous, guarded expression his fair features had shifted into. Seeing Fred this way made her squirm internally, her insides twisting into uncomfortable knots of anxiety, but she consented anyway as her own need to know what was on his mind won out over her apprehension.

"Of course, Fred," she stated and was inwardly amazed at how controlled and unwavering her voice was.

Fred looked to his shoes and fidgeted slightly under her gaze and it was a long moment before he finally peered back into her doe eyes. She once again took quick notice of the uncertainty clouding his eyes that made him look more like the thirteen year old boy she had met during her First Year. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything – I really am just curious – but why did you choose Krum?" The sound of his voice was tense and quiet, making Hermione wonder if he had wanted to ask her this particular question for a while.

Hermione, for her part, was stunned. The query itself was full of all sorts of implications and she didn't know if Fred was asking why she let Viktor Krum escort her to the bloody Yule Ball or why she supposedly had sex with him of all people. The latter was a sentiment she often heard echoed within the gossip that circulated about. Why would Hermione Granger sleep with Viktor Krum, or – and this was the most likely form of questioning – why would Viktor Krum, a man who could quite literally have anyone he wanted, lower his standards and shag someone like Hermione Granger? In her opinion, it would have been her own standards and values that need be lowered for her to ever even consider taking such a brute to bed but that was neither here nor there.

All of this, of course, lead to her own line of forming questions. Why would Fred care to know why she let Viktor take her to the dance? They hardly spoke, she and Fred, though they were somewhat friends. She figured he merely viewed her as the shirty, bookish friend of his little brother or even maybe saw her as another sister. If that were the case she supposed that it was perfectly acceptable for him to want to know something like how Krum had wound up being her date. Brothers, especially older ones, tended to look after their sisters. She had seen that much firsthand when she was thirteen. A girl in the neighbourhood she'd grown up in – Violet, Hermione thought her name was – had been talking to another one of the kids that lived on their block when he suddenly kissed her. He hadn't seen that Violet's brother had witnessed it and had therefore been punched so hard in the nose that it broke. It was the first time Hermione had ever seen someone bleed that much.

Regardless of how Fred viewed her, she decided she'd only answer how she had become Viktor's date. There was no reason to even open the can of worms that was her now infamous sex life and if there was, well, she'd cross that bridge with a torch and burn it to ash without ever even batting an eyelash. "I'm not completely sure why, but Viktor liked to visit the library. My only guess is that since Madam Pince is so strict about the level of noise as well as the amount of people, he was taking refuge and hiding from the flock of girls that follow him everywhere. Regardless of his reasons, he was there quite often as was I, and every now and then he would ask for my help on an assignment or he would simply sit across from me and watch me as I studied. It was strange but he was harmless and unearthly quiet, therefore not a distraction, and I just let him be." Hermione didn't understand why she was giving so much detail and depth, it wasn't as if Fred actually cared that much for the back story so much as the main plot and point, but she couldn't make herself stop. It was like part of her wanted to talk about the odd relationship she had developed with Krum and discuss what had happened. Mere days ago, all she wanted was to forget everything about her life, but sitting in the Kitchens and talking about it with Fred seemed to be exactly what she wanted and needed.

She chose not to dwell on how completely mental it was.

"When the Yule Ball was announced, I noticed his behaviour changed. He was looking at me more and more and whenever I would look up from an essay I was writing or a text I was reading he would blush and look away as quickly as he could. About the fourth day of him acting so strangely, I finally had enough and demanded to know what it was he wanted and that's when he asked me. I didn't immediately answer him – I actually thought he had been paid off by Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins to toy with me – but he continued to ask me everyday of the following week. When I finally realised he was being sincere I said I'd go with him because it had become painfully obvious no one else was going to ask me." A fresh blush travelled along her cheekbones, blossoming into a bright red stain that marred her face. At all costs she avoided looking at Fred and did her very best to resist the temptation of peering into his beautiful eyes, eyes that made her feel incredibly stripped and laid bare for him to see. If she did she was quite certain that tears would ambush her in a mutinous rebellion against the strong-armed emotions that were holding them captive. So she waited with bated breath and an endless stream of worrisome thoughts.

Beside her, Fred exhaled a low sigh that sounded of relief and she was so thrilled by the sound of it and the idea of him responding and of finally being rid of the attention she was currently receiving. She angled her body on the wobbly stool, facing him as he opened his mouth to speak but before he could utter one lousy syllable another's voice called to her.

"Mistress Granger! How lovely to see you again!"

Hermione whirled around so fast that she very nearly fell from her perch atop the stool and would have if Fred hadn't managed to react with reflexes that only came from years of playing Quidditch and caught her hip, pulling her up and, incidentally, closer to him. She moved quicker than she ever had and disentangled herself from Fred, one again refusing to meet his eyes or look at him as she could feel the most curious of blushes blooming along her chest, neck, and cheeks. It felt like wildfire but it burned with a cool undertone that had her skin rising with goosebumps.

As if suddenly remembering why she had almost toppled over in the first place, Hermione raised her head and beamed brilliantly at the creature standing before her, a mere ten feet away. "Dobby!" she exclaimed and hastily launched towards the friendly Elf. Dropping to her knees, she wrapped her arms around his frail, little shoulders and hugged him tightly. "It's so great to see you! I didn't even know you worked here," she said as she pulled back, her wide smile dropping slightly. "Speaking of which, why are you – I thought Harry had you freed?" Hermione's brow furrowed while a rush of angry confusion washed through her. Harry wouldn't have lied about that, she was positive and she'd seen the Elf on a few occasions outside of Hogwarts. But why in Godric's name was Dobby in the Kitchens, then? It just didn't make a lick of sense.

Dobby stumbled backward, tripping over his vividly red trainers, and wrung his hands nervously. "Dobby is freed, miss, but Dobby was lonely and cold and had nowhere to go so Master Dumbledore asked Dobby to help around Hogwarts School." He looked at her with his wide, green eyes shining and a happy grin on his pointed face. "But Dobby is treated very well at Hogwarts, very well indeed! He is paid a whole Galleon every week and has one day off a month if he wishes!" he announced excitedly and Hermione could not do anything but smile joyfully. If he was being paid and allowed time to rest if needed, she would not berate the poor Elf for getting roped back into working for witches and wizards.

The new found knowledge of Professor Dumbledore's treatment of the House Elf also renewed hope inside Hermione. If someone as powerful and respected as Albus Dumbledore could be nice and genteel with the House Elves, then surely a few others could as well. She idly wondered if she could get him to join the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare; he really would be a valuable asset to her compaign.

"Well," she replied in a softer tone, "as long as you're happy, Dobby, I won't try to hinder your work in the castle."

"Thanking you ever so much, Mistress Granger!"

"Oh, Dobby, please. You can call me Hermione if you'd like."

"Dobby does like Hermione much, much better than Mistress Granger! Much better, yes."

"Thank you, Dobby."

She brought her hands forward, catching Dobby's face between them and leaned down to press a tender, affectionate kiss atop his greyish-green head. Hermione then raised herself from the floor still smiling and beaming at the lovely House Elf and bade him goodbye just seconds before he Disapparated with a loud crack after giving her a wonky and off-balanced bow. In Hermione's opinion there was nothing quite as adorable as Dobby, the House Elf.

She stared at the place the little fellow had been standing with fondness for an immeasurable slot of time, only looking away when Fred's voice beckoned her.

"Mistress Granger, eh? Sounds rather kinky for such an innocent prefect in the making."

Hermione rounded, intentions to glare and say something truly amazing and witty coursing through her, but stopped short when she saw Fred's face. His expression was probably the strangest she'd ever seen; a mix of what looked like admiration, skepticism, and possibly a trace of lust. The last, she was sure, was a mistake but he still looked hilarious and she couldn't resist doubling over in hysterics. Warmth spread through her when she heard his deep, rumbling laugh join rather harmoniously with her own high-pitched giggling.

"Anyway," he continued when they had finally re-emerged from their joint laughter, wiping tears of mirth from their eyes, "as I was saying before we took a swim in the pool of insanity, I know you didn't shag that dunderhead." His voice was low, firm and was dripping with confidence and clarity.

All traces of smiles and humour and incredibly good feelings instantly fell away from Hermione, tension leaking slowly into the atmosphere. For half a mo' she couldn't comprehend the words that had come from his mouth, the letters that formed those words, or the intonation of his voice. Then, with the force of a hundred hippogriffs, realisation smacked into her. "Oh," she said so softly even she could hardly hear it. Clearing her throat in hopes of relocating her voice, she tried again. "Thank you. Not many people seem to be as trusting." Hermione's thoughts immediately circled around Ron as soon as the words left her mouth and she sighed sadly. Not twenty-four hours had passed since she had discovered just how hurtful he could be and she was already missing the warmth of their friendship.

"Yes, well, Ron's a pillock and a blind one at that. Anyone with some semblance of intelligence can obviously see that you're not that type of girl, you don't sleep with a bloke simply because he showed you some interest."

Fred was surprisingly astute and intuitive, Hermione decided.

"You sound pretty resolved."

"Of course I am. After all, _I _was the lucky gent you spent the night with that evening and judging by the way I found you, all messy over another guy and such, I think it's a safe call to say you definitely were not testing the durability of your bed."

"If that's how you want to describe that night, then I suggest you re-familiarise yourself with the definition of lucky."

Another bemused chortle sounded from Fred's chest, a broad and goofy smile riding his lips. "Granger, you so dearly need to minimise your vocabulary. You sound like a bleedin' textbook. Or worse yet, you sound like McGonagall," he commented between barks of laughter.

With a half-hearted glare, Hermione ignored his jibe and instead said something that she had been wanting to since Christmas. "About that night, by the way, I've been meaning to thank you for not only consoling me but also for your discretion. Both were unexpected but appreciated, so ta." Hermione hated how incredibly timid her voice sounded and how, while she spoke, her body trembled with the effects of her sleep deprivation as well as the sincerity she was desperate to convey. Still, she found that even a wobbly tiding of gratitude was better than none at all.

Fred shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers with a shrug and his grin widened evermore, his brilliantly white teeth flashing at her. "Trust me, Mistress Granger," she groaned at this, the sound filled with annoyance and displeasure, "spending time with you isn't at all as horrible as you think." He then proceeded to wink garishly at her, sending a fresh wave of heat across her cheeks.

"Thank you?" she replied, unsure if there was actually a compliment hidden under the guise of sarcasm but she thought there might have been.

"Any time, Granger. Any time."

The two of them lapsed back into their strange, friendly silence. Hermione walked back over to their table and sat down atop her stool, hand curling around her discarded mug of coffee. She sipped from her cup while he busied himself with a roll, picking it to pieces with his fingers until it was nothing more than a pile of baked grain. Silently she watched him from the corners of her eyes, mind spinning with questions about his odd and seemingly distracted behaviour. This was not the Fred Weasley she had grown up in the presence of and she so badly wanted to know what was plaguing him and his thoughts. She had an idea what it might be, why he was so upset, and probably why he hadn't slept. Thinking of it, Hermione slipped her hand into her robe and stroked the rough parchment inside her pocket. She wanted to ask him about what his and George's dealings with Bagman entailed but she was frankly scared of how he'd react to her knowing about any of it and reading the letter. Weasleys were not known for their infinite patience so much as their temperamental outbursts. Ron had blown up at her for small and ridiculous matters quite a bit in the time they've known each other, who was to say Fred wouldn't lose his marbles when he found out that she was onto him and his twin?

Honestly, she was such a bloody coward sometimes that it truly astounded her that the Sorting Hat put her in Gryffindor.

Slowly, uncertainly, Hermione fished the letter from her pocket and laid it on the tabletop, sliding it across the distance between herself and the ginger boy sitting next to her. Her hand visibly shook when she released the heavy parchment, pulling it safely back to rest in her lap. Hermione's eyes were trained on Fred, waiting in silence to gauge his reaction, and she felt her heart-rate pick up slightly when he finally grabbed the blasted paper.

"What's this?" he asked without unfolding it "A love letter, perhaps? Why, Hermione, I had no idea you had such affections for me! This is all just so sudden, I don't know what to do!" he exclaimed, his voice ridiculously choked with fake joyful tears and feigned shock.

Despite her trepidation, Hermione laughed lightly and rolled her eyes. "If I actually had feelings for you, do you really think that I'd risk writing them in a note that could very easily be stolen from either of us and then read aloud to the entirety of this school? That's utter nonsense." She was thankful that Fred was still joking, still nothing but smiles and wry humour. It made her nerves cease their burning for a couple of seconds, giving her a reprieve.

"Fair enough, but there's no need to hide your feelings for me, Granger. I'm a babe and everyone wants me so it isn't too much of a surprise."

"Fred, just shut up and read the bloody letter. This is rather important."

"Yes, Mistress Granger," he retorted as his long fingers began to unfold and smooth out the letter. "Y'know when you get all bossy like that, I get tingly inside." He shot her a smile that was full of suggestion and waggled his eyebrows, making Hermione roll her eyes again and try to hide her reddened face. She was seriously beginning to hate that she'd braided her hair back as her wild curls would have served as a much better curtain to hide the never-ending blushes that Fred had such a knack for triggering.

Peering at him, she watched as he redirected his attention to the parchment in his hands, his face dropping into a glower as he read over the familiar words. Hermione figured that as worn as the note was when she first picked it up, the boys had most likely read it over and over, again and again. Fred no doubt knew what she had found just by the heading. Taking a long draw from her coffee, she set it down gently and swivelled on the stool, pointing her body at him and exposing herself to the inevitable outcome so as to not make him too incredibly leery of her actions.

Fred's jaw clenched, his throat moved with a forceful swallow, and his bright eyes darkened almost imperceptibly. All of which were indicators of wrath and yet Hermione still felt safe and warm, if just a little nervous. Fred wasn't a person to jump to wild conclusions and give in to whatever current of emotion was riding through him. He wasn't Ron, she trusted him not to act too rashly.

"Where did you – how did you get this, Hermione?" he asked in a strained voice, setting the infernal letter on the table and pushing it as far away from him as he could as though it were a poisonous snake.

Sighing, Hermione looked at him sadly. "I found it this morning. It was an accident, I had tripped and was trying to right myself when I saw it and my curious nature got the best of me. I'm sorry, Fred. I know I wasn't meant to see it."

"It isn't that George and I didn't want anyone to see it, we just don't want the wrong people to find out what we're up to and turn us in to the Ministry or Dumbledore."

"I wouldn't do that. I know that if weighed, Bagman's grievances would be heftier than yours. I also already railed you and George for gambling in the first place and I'm honestly too exhausted to lecture you on responsibility again. Instead, I was thinking I might help you get your money back."

Awe contorted Fred's facial features as he turned to look at her, but he quickly masked it by narrowing his eyes playfully and quirking a single eyebrow. "How extraordinarily devious of you. What'd you have in mind?" he questioned carefully but Hermione could hear his barely concealed intrigue shining through.

She grinned. "Well, lucky for us, Mr. Bagman has been very open about his admiration for one Harry James Potter and I happen to be a master at brewing Polyjuice Potion."

"Ah, do go on."

Hermione did not need any more encouragement than those few words and she immediately launched into a detailed plan of attack. "It's quite simple, really, but it will time consuming. You'll need another month's patience and we'll have to be incredibly discreet." She had honestly been scheming against Ludovic Bagman since she had read that damned letter and as soon as it was perfected in her mind, she had desperately wanted to tell Fred that she was indeed on to him and his brother and also that she wanted to help exact their own personal brand of justice. "We will need a lock of Harry's hair for it to work and then comes the difficult task of deciding which of us will become him. Once that's been decided though, whichever of us has transformed will merely ask Bagman to return yours and George's money. If asking doesn't prove useful then we'll threaten him." Hermione said all of this as though it were the most obvious and casual of things in all the universe and took another drink of her coffee, draining the cup.

Fred looked at her for a long moment, his forget-me-not eyes staring unblinkingly. She could understand his surprise; she was so normally seen as a rule loving freak that any contradictory evidence was often overlooked. However, people were extremely foolish if they truly believed she never broke any of the school rules and Wizarding Laws whenever she was helping Harry overcome whatever slight was after him. In fact the three of them – her, Ron, and Harry – had participated in such illegal activity that it was quite a shock they hadn't yet been thrown into a cell in Azkaban.

Finally after what could have been mere minutes or a couple decades, the Weasley beside her spoke in an uncommonly gentle voice that she was only just realising she was beginning to hear more and more frequently. "Thank you, Hermione. I can't imagine it would be easy for you to use your best mate in such a way and that you are willing to do so just for me and George really says a lot about who you are. Don't let anyone, especially my barmpot of a brother, ever tell you that you're less than a bleeding godsend." Fred then reached over and took her small hands in his big ones, squeezing them in a manner that sent a cacophony of butterflies flying madly about her stomach.

"It's what friends do, Fred," she muttered weakly, oblivious to the sad disappointment that flickered through his eyes at the term.

Clearing his throat a bit too loudly, Fred detached his hands and looked down at the Muggle watch she often saw on his wrist. She wasn't one hundred percent sure, but Hermione thought the trinket had been a gift from Mr. Weasley a few years ago after he had managed to successfully mend the cracked time-teller. Her eyes followed suit and glanced at the watch face, taking note that there was still a good half hour before she needed to be in class – there was no need to go to the Great Hall for the morning feast if she'd already eaten – and she found herself wondering if Fred would be spending the last bit of free time with her or not.

"Are you going to go find your better half, then?" she asked.

Instead of laughing fondly or any such expected reaction, Fred sighed and ran his hand first over his face and then through his mane of ginger locks. Hermione thought he looked rather pained and sad and she found that it hurt _her _to see him so forlorn, which was most puzzling. "No, I don't suppose I am," he answered darkly.

Hermione's brow stitched itself together with a frown. He didn't want to see his twin? Fred Weasley did not want to go laugh and joke and prank with George Weasley? Had the entire world suddenly gone topsy-turvy, or, perhaps had she taken a turn 'round the twist? None of it made any bloody sense. None, at all. "Did something happen, Fred?" she said cautiously, not wanting to further upset him or seem like she was sticking her nose into business in which it did not belong.

Fred turned to look at her, his eyes dim and sad and a weak smile on his lips. "Yes, Hermione, something did happen. Something that hurt me more than I thought it would and less than it really should."

Spectacular, the boy was speaking in riddles that made even less sense than his avoiding his brother. Hermione's frown instantly deepened. "Well," she started, "whatever it is, I'm sure the two of you will mend eventually. I mean, you can't exactly keep cross and avoid him forever."

"I'm not mad at George. Hell, I don't hold him at all responsible for this mess."

"What mess, exactly, are we talking about?"

Fred looked at her again, this time as if she were blind and four forms of crazy. "I'm talking about Angelina kissing George, of course." He had said the words nonchalantly, giving an air of disinterest and complete lack of caring, but Hermione wasn't fooled for a second. She had caught the torrent of hurt that flashed in his azure orbs.

"She what?" Hermione whispered, tone coloured with disbelief. Angelina Johnson and Fred had been 'dating' since he asked her to the Yule Ball and had been sighted once or twice snogging in the Commons or simply holding hands as they walked the halls, George trailing behind with the twins' good friend Lee Jordan. She felt sick thinking about how badly that kind of betrayal would burn; your partner snogging your own sibling. Suddenly a vicious thought flitted through Hermione's mind, one that made the churning in the pit of her stomach amplify tenfold. "George didn't pursue her, did he? I mean, he wouldn't have kissed her on his own?" Gods be good, she hoped it wasn't true. If it were, she was absolutely positive that Fred nor George would ever properly heal their relationship.

"What? No! I thought you were smart, Granger? Why in the seven hells would you think my brother was capable of doing something so heartless?" Fred exclaimed heatedly, glaring fiercely at Hermione. She'd never seen him quite so riled up and it would have frightened her if she was at all capable of feeling anything other than the flood of relief that came with knowing her suspicions were not true.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head to clear the muddle of thoughts clouding her mind and also trying to rid herself of the nasty feelings her morbid thinking had instilled inside her. "I was only making sure, Frederick, there was no reason to take my head off," she bit back. "Would you tell me what happened so I don't risk my health any further by provoking whatever fiend it is inside you that just surfaced?"

He eyed her warily. "No reason? You only just accused my twin of trying to snatch my girlfriend," he seethed. A few minutes of tense silence followed his angry voice before Hermione slowly saw the hateful flame in his eyes die away to little more than a flicker and he nodded his head. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. I'll tell you what I saw, but only on the condition that you don't breathe a word of it to anyone and you tell me what happened last night that had you and my dear sister all ruffled. Deal?" he spoke and she could still hear a faint trace of not only anger but anguish as well.

Hermione pursed her lips as her thoughts danced back to the memories of the previous night and the horrors it had entailed, her mind's eyes conjuring up Ron's distrusting expression while her ears pulsed with the sounds of Viktor's untruthful words. "Fine," she agreed.

"Fine," Fred echoed. He squared his shoulders and inhaled deeply, his eyes dulling with images, memories she couldn't see. "I had been looking for George – we were supposed to be mulling over new ideas for getting Bagman to give us our Galleons back – but I couldn't find him anywhere. On my way back to the Tower it occurred to me that he might have gone to the library in hopes of finding inspiration there, so naturally I shifted course and made my way to the fifth floor," his tone was soft and pained, his words hurried and pushed together as though Fred was trying to get through his explanation as swift as possible and out of the memories that had taken hold of him. Still, she appreciated that he was even telling her what happened, let alone the premise of the event. "When I got to the library I didn't hesitate in scouring the stuffy room for him and I'd just come to a small nook towards the back when I saw them. Angelina was whispering something in his ear and George looked panicked and sickened by whatever it was she was saying and before I could blink, she was bloody snogging him and he was trying to push her off. I didn't stick around though. I turned tail and left as fast as I could and arrived back in the Common Room just before you and Ginny burst through the door looking like you'd just been outrunning banshees." Within seconds of finishing his speech Fred's eyes once again became seeing, his blue depths regaining focus. He flashed her with quick, half-hearted shadow of a smile that she returned.

She hated Angelina inexplicably and felt more sorrow for Fred and his brother than she ever had in her life. It was sometimes confusing to tell the two men apart from one another but it wasn't impossible and as such Angelina's actions were inexcusable. "I'm so sorry, Fred," she said and reached out to grab one of his hands, giving it a squeeze like he had done with hers. She was rewarded with a slightly less grim smile. "Angelina's more of a fool than Ronald if she couldn't plainly see that she was with the wrong brother."

"That's improbable, Granger. No one is as dim as dear Ronnie," Fred ribbed and Hermione beamed at his resilient sense of humour. No matter the slight, it seemed that Fred Weasley would forever retain the ability to make a joke.

"All the same, she's a tart and you and poor George deserve better," Hermione replied primly. "How a girl can confuse her boyfriend with someone else is beyond me."

"Well, I don't know if you know this, Granger, but George and me share a slight resemblance. Nothing too major, of course, just the same crooked nose and fabulous cheekbones."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but could not keep a smile from lighting up her face. He really was such a silly man sometimes. "I honestly had no idea, Fred. Thank you for informing me. Anyway, the point I was trying to make was, that she still should have been able to tell if you were you and George was George. If not instinctively then physically." At his confused look that consisted of nothing more than two knitted red brows and a wondering bemused half-smirk she continued, "There's not much to defer to physically but there are a few tell-tale signs of who is who. For instance, you have a scar on the bridge of your nose and George has a beauty mark on the left of his throat. More than that though, both of you have a different presence and f-feel different to be a-around." She blushed and stammered through the last bit as Fred regarded her with an expression that was both knowing and cheeky. Knowing of what, she had no clue, but she kind of suspected she didn't need nor want to know what he was thinking.

Fred laughed loudly, throwing his head back and vibrating with the intensity. Hermione quite loved when he laughed like this, loved the way he was so open and willing to share his amusement or excitement with the world around him, loved that his wide smile always inspired others to smile and laugh along with him. He was infectious in the most liberating of ways.

"Leave it to Hermione Granger to make being a twin sound as factual and boring as one of old Binns' lectures on Goblins!" he exclaimed in between bouts of chuckling. "But really," he stated once he had gotten enough control of his uproarious laughter to speak clearly, "it's nice to know that someone in this castle knows the difference. It's exhausting and more than slightly maddening, having to correct everyone all the time. Don't get me wrong, Georgie and I enjoy switching names every now again for a bit of fun, but it gets stale after a while."

"Right, well, happy to be of service."

"It's your go, Granger. What happened last night that had you and Gin looking frightful and pissed?"

With a resigned sigh, Hermione launched into her tale of nightly woes. She told him about what he had already observed in the Great Hall – Neville's belief of her innocence and Ron's betrayal – and then regaled him with crying on Ginny's shoulder and then finally telling him all about overhearing Viktor and the mystery man discussing her bedroom techniques. Fred listened to her intently, never once interrupting, but she had noticed that his face would darken with every detail she divulged until he finally looked ready to seriously injure someone. "When Ginny and I returned to Gryffindor Tower I, as you no doubt saw, stormed up the stairs. Gin tried to get me to talk to Harry about the new rift between Ron and I, but he has enough problems and I don't want to add to the weight he bears," she ended her story with a ragged sigh.

Fred was quiet, his face pensive and lined with shadows. He looked pained and torn between two very difficult options that he seemed to be heavily weighing in his mind. As she watched him, Hermione momentarily wished she could peer into his mind but as far as she knew, Legilimency was not permitted on Hogwarts' grounds and was essentially illegal. Not to mention she had no idea how to perform the necessary charm. Regardless, she was entranced and curious and left waiting, wanting.

Just as Hermione was losing hope that he'd ever respond and was on the verge of grabbing her things and going, Fred sighed and raked his hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. "I don't even know what to say, Hermione. I really don't. I want to apologise to you but I'm not Ron and I haven't caused you any pain that I'm aware of and I'm so angry at Krum and whoever else was in that hall that I could curse them without a single drop of remorse. I knew you were going through some tough shite, but I didn't think it was this awful." Another sigh and another pull of his hair. "I wish I knew something that would make it all better." He sounded like a lost child and she was struck with a thick wave of affection for the boy as it dawned on her that he sounded like that because he wanted to help her, he wanted to make her happy.

"Fred," she said softly and smiled at him, "don't you see that have done something to make it all seem so much better and easier to deal with? You've made me smile more this morning than I have in a week and for that I will always be thankful. You're right to not apologise because you aren't Ronald and even if you were, you still wouldn't tell me you're sorry because that just isn't who Ron Weasley is. Don't try to go after Viktor either, it isn't worth the possible consequences and he'll someday get exactly what he deserves for being such a prat."

She glanced down at his watch and sighed. If they didn't leave they would be late to their first classes and Hermione really didn't need the added stress of knowing she had messed up the second half of her Fourth Year by staying in the Kitchens for too long. "For now," she commented while she stood and offered Fred her hand, pulling him up, "let's just focus on getting through the day."

…

…

_Before you bombard me with questions, yes. Yes, Fred has some feelings for Hermione already but she doesn't yet realise she might have some for him nor that he has a torch for her. None of that will be revealed this early. Patience my young padowans, I promise it'll be well worth it._

_Okay, well, this is later than I initially expected but in my own defence this chapter would not stop being written and spanning across six pages more than the last three. Seriously guys, I love you so much that I have given you an extra six bloody pages! Granted, they're not all that fantastic, but still. It counts._

_So, I have to say that I squealed like a fangirl when I got all of your reviews and favourites and follows because it let me know that you're all still alive and with this story even though some of you thought I had abandoned it. You guys just rock!_

_You all know that I love and crave those sparkling reviews so give them to me and I'll give you a new chapter. Deal?_

_Loves, C._


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